tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48816291739432085512024-02-19T08:39:38.219-06:00Bottoms Off And On The TableMeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.comBlogger250125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-15748804253523942712011-12-28T20:10:00.000-06:002011-12-28T20:10:43.069-06:00I Hate ChristmasI decided not to post anything about the holidays before the holidays because I didn't want to further bum anyone out who was already kinda bummed out. <br />
<br />
I hate Christmas. <br />
<br />
Well, maybe I don't hate it, I just don't care for it. Christmas is just....meh. Why? <br />
<br />
I have no children. This is stating the obvious. Christmas is such a child centric holiday and I just feel left out most of the time. I also have no nieces or nephews to dote on (although I'm still unsure if I will be able to muster the grace to dote on nieces or nephews when that time comes)<br />
<br />
I don't get any presents. My family has evolved from presents to trading names to trading gift cards to nothing. We decided that spending time together was more important than gifts. The only problem is that we forgot that we really don't enjoy each other's company that much.<br />
<br />
I hate the coworker-gift-dance-of-awkwardness. It's obvious to me that some folks enjoy buying gifts for their coworkers. I'm just not into it. If you get me a gift, then I have to run out and get you a gift. I hate it when someone gives me a gift and I haven't gotten them anything. Gift giving at the office is like orgasms. It's best when it happens simultaneously.<br />
<br />
I think that the best I can say about the holidays is that they are over and I survived. I hope you did too!Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-23170243225637785562011-12-16T07:20:00.000-06:002011-12-16T07:20:25.595-06:00thoughts on hopeOn the way to work several months ago I was listening to NPR. The story was about a man whose family was exiled from Libya in the seventies. In exile his father was arrested by Egyptian intelligence officers and extradited back to Libya. He and his family are pretty sure that his father is dead after all these years, but don't really have definitive prove if he is alive or dead.<br />
<br />
So he always lives with a bit of hope.<br />
<br />
The man went on to say that he was once in Ireland and met a woman whose father was lost at sea decades ago and never seen again, presumed (but not confirmed) dead. He felt as though he had a shared experience with this woman. They understood each other.<br />
<br />
She always lives with a bit of hope too.<br />
<br />
He went on to describe the misery of hope. Generally we think of hope as a good thing. <br />
<br />
All hope is not lost.<br />
<br />
As long as you still have hope...<br />
<br />
Keep hope alive.<br />
<br />
But hope can be a bad thing too. Hope can prevent you from moving on. Hope can prevent you from having closure.<br />
<br />
If you are still reading here, I am still alive. I am healing and moving on with my life post-fertility treatments. I still have hope.<br />
<br />
More to come...Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-70127089027800045922011-03-21T21:45:00.000-05:002011-03-21T21:45:01.775-05:00LizI've been reading Liz's blog since I started blogging. (One of two blogs that I have been reading for years with a writer still writing and still without child.) It took her years just to get to IVF number one and<a href="http://womb4improvement.blogspot.com/2011/03/ivf-by-numbers.html"> it didn't work</a>. <br />
<br />
It's not fair and there are no words except, I'm so sorry.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-62762876780818361792011-02-06T18:30:00.001-06:002011-02-06T18:42:57.087-06:00be IN<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOGF1DKVmFxUnqBEjplf-TrZY0tcyRTrwrqWro5E_aD5F9QPnZODESfNntt6NWpisTda8yjwQqzj_saeiKmq4kOAOapHB9gfXQUxYTUu5hBWfsEhof-x_NjvHXdy3D-zf4nOcyViu/s1600-h/j0390238.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343643951125106658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOGF1DKVmFxUnqBEjplf-TrZY0tcyRTrwrqWro5E_aD5F9QPnZODESfNntt6NWpisTda8yjwQqzj_saeiKmq4kOAOapHB9gfXQUxYTUu5hBWfsEhof-x_NjvHXdy3D-zf4nOcyViu/s320/j0390238.jpg" style="display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I AM INfertile...<br />
<br />
But I am so much more "IN" than that...<br />
<br />
I’ve been tested. I’ve been probed. I’ve been injected. I’ve missed work for appointments. I’ve researched. I’ve asked questions. I’ve worried. I’ve made phone calls. I’ve prioritized...<br />
<br />
I AM INcessant...<br />
<br />
I’ve gone to baby showers. I’ve smiled at other‘s “big news“. I’ve purchased baby gifts. I’ve babysat. I’ve missed chances. I’ve lost sleep. I’ve lost hope. I’ve lost embryos. I’ve lost babies...<br />
<br />
I AM INdestructible...<br />
<br />
I might be a mother. I might not be a mother. I might come to terms. I might never quit. I will survive...<br />
<br />
I AM INvincible...<br />
<br />
I am INfertile. I am INcessant. I am INdestructible. I am INvincible. I am IN.<br />
<br />
Get the badge at the right that links to this post. Be IN.</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-33632457138861183582011-01-20T12:52:00.000-06:002011-01-20T12:52:18.323-06:00Emails from the SubconsciousEvery once in awhile I get an email from my husband that goes something like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>To: Wife</em><br />
<em>From: Husband</em><br />
<em>Subject: [Blank]</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>Great. A new school year and three women came back pregnant from summer break.</em><br />
<br />
Or<br />
<br />
<em>To: Wife</em><br />
<em>From: Husband</em><br />
<em>Subject: [Blank]</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>I’m so sick of seeing people’s baby and grandbaby pictures.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
It’s hard for me to believe that these emails are even coming from him. I imagine that he’s sitting in his office in some sort of trance and his subconscious starts directing his fingers to type out these little messages. His brain (or heart?) is sending me little subliminal electronic clues…”We’re hurting, Megan. We just wanted to let you know.” My husband keeps his hurt concealed. As much as I prod and ask leading questions, he has yet to tell me face to face, heart to heart, how much pain he is in.<br />
<br />
There are other clues too. Several months ago I went to the emergency room with a gall bladder attack. I was lying on a bed in a makeshift curtained off room in agonizing pain. A nurse came in to draw some blood and left. As soon as she left I heard my husband say under his breath, “bitch”. Now my husband and I are huge potty mouths. We curse a lot in the privacy of our own home (really no reason not to), but hubby is not generally in the habit of randomly calling women offensive names. I asked him what happened and he responded, “Didn’t you see? She’s pregnant.”<br />
<br />
Well, I’m not proud of it or anything, but I’ve certainly thought the same thing in my head as I see random pregnant women walking about or random skinny women walking about for that matter. However, I generally keep those thoughts to myself. After all, it’s not nice. <br />
<br />
It’s almost like the pain that he works so hard to keep inside bubbles up every once in awhile and he just can’t keep it in. It bubbles up enough to remind me that I’m not in this alone. It bubbles up enough to let me know that he’s not as OK as he’d like me to believe. It bubbles up enough to make me wonder if he will ever be OK.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-62010413965031920732011-01-01T15:29:00.000-06:002011-01-01T15:29:56.699-06:00Goodbye HelloSo I'm a little late for the end of the year wrap up, but if you'll indulge me I'll post a bit of a goodbye to 2010 before I say hello to 2011.<br />
<br />
Mostly when I think of this past year I can't believe it all happened. All the doctor's appointments, shots, acupuncture appointments, and trips to the pharmacy have become foreign to me again. I find myself thinking about the "treatment time" in my life with a sense of wonder. Did that just happen? Did I really do all that? Was that really my life? <br />
<br />
It's funny what some time and distance will do for the mind. However, while I can say that time has healed some of my wounds from treatments; it has not healed my longing for a child. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzaYacg3AkSqZoRqHm644qQYhxs4jAe9Zq6B1Gr2HUacZjq4yCwxowNQZUYD8A6wRFK6ScxX2GDOp0q7B26Pw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
So I would like this video to represent closure, but obviously I still can't stop leaving that question mark at the end. <br />
<br />
That's the good bye to 2010. Now on to the hello.<br />
<br />
I have caught resolution fever pretty bad this year. I am usually not one for resolutions, but I feel like I let this past year <u>happen to me</u>. I didn't feel like an <u>active participant in my life</u>. So I am resolving to do <u>more living and get more done</u>.<br />
<br />
That means a lot of things; getting healthier, being more engaged at work, getting my house organized, and spending more time on creative endeavors. There has to be more to life than working and watching TV. <br />
<br />
I <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/bottomsoff/Scrapbooking#">kept an art journal</a> in 2009 documenting my infertility treatments. I kept no journal in 2010. This year I intend to keep a "goal journal" to hold myself accountable to my goals and document my progress. It will probably be a bit artsy again.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91D1QUBdc5syNirUfXw7RDBZmZyl7FzYFpoYB7yCZuoMBiRPy1nsqgK03Fcqp5SfOoY3fc4HA7DqqJDyrMB9a_qOCMd-zE6EXSrB_myTd173L1SxKBfX19kfF5Sekm0BEJasDtSGj/s1600/IMG_1323+%2528Medium%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91D1QUBdc5syNirUfXw7RDBZmZyl7FzYFpoYB7yCZuoMBiRPy1nsqgK03Fcqp5SfOoY3fc4HA7DqqJDyrMB9a_qOCMd-zE6EXSrB_myTd173L1SxKBfX19kfF5Sekm0BEJasDtSGj/s320/IMG_1323+%2528Medium%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
In other news, I'm happy to announce that we have added another member to our family. A rescued golden retriever puppy who came to us just before Christmas. We named him Lou. After a few days of being bitter, Bo has turned into a great big brother.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNnDBKYL8Gq-LrQLN8k4nYbUV3bHMnU0hTH71Td3g3zffjtyKC4aIGhE6gk44oYZgkldPX9DPRlJXpJZMWM84RsKDoQcFzug5dF9QdVxwdmPo2h8e6KLjpth5cbVvZkZQpVFinr3f/s1600/IMG_1079+%2528Medium%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNnDBKYL8Gq-LrQLN8k4nYbUV3bHMnU0hTH71Td3g3zffjtyKC4aIGhE6gk44oYZgkldPX9DPRlJXpJZMWM84RsKDoQcFzug5dF9QdVxwdmPo2h8e6KLjpth5cbVvZkZQpVFinr3f/s320/IMG_1079+%2528Medium%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I wish everyone a happy new year. I hope to be posting more as I think I am going to have a lot more to say...Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-84592120192766046692010-10-31T17:45:00.000-05:002010-10-31T17:45:12.664-05:00How does it feel to be infertile?I've never been asked by a fertile person how it feels to be infertile. No infertile person has ever had to ask how it feels. However, I have often found myself wondering if I could explain to a fertile person how infertility feels.<br />
<br />
It's so abstract. I won't die from this disease. I've not lost any limbs. I don't have any visible scars. In my own case I've not lost anything tangible really. I've lost clusters of cells, even my one miscarriage was a blighted ovum; a non baby.<br />
<br />
The only way I can describe how being infertile feels is to equate it to what I imagine it would be like to love a child...<br />
<br />
Infertility feels like loving a child...but the exact opposite.<br />
<br />
I imagine that when a child is born the parents feel overwhelming feelings of joy, pride, happiness, and love. I'm sure it is indescribable. I'm sure it is emotionally debilitating, makes you reevaluate your life, makes you change your life for the better.<br />
<br />
Infertility has made me feel that way too...but the exact opposite.<br />
<br />
I imagine that when you are a parent the love you have for your child permeates your life in all sorts of little ways. I'm sure that sometimes that love catches you off guard in little moments. You remember your love when you see a picture, hear a comment, or smell a scent. I imagine that love for a child is like a pleasant whisper throughout the day.<br />
<br />
Infertility has made me feel that way too...but the exact opposite.<br />
<br />
I'm sure that everyday as a parent is not good. Just as everyday without children is not bad.<br />
<br />
However, if a fertile person ever thinks to ask me how it feels to be infertile; if a fertile person ever wants to understand; I would tell them to think of all the intense love they have for their child, all the little ways that being a parent makes them happy. I imagine the intensity of feeling is the same.<br />
<br />
But where they have love I have bitterness.<br />
But where they have hope I have despair.<br />
But where they have peace I have heartbreak.<br />
<br />
And just as a parent will always be a parent. I will always be infertile.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-67302017237581490612010-10-17T14:44:00.001-05:002010-10-17T15:54:52.604-05:00The Innocence of WhenSaturday I was shopping at Pottery Barn. As the cashier rang up my overpriced candles a young girl came to the counter, gift card in hand. She asked the cashier, "Can you see if there is a balance on this? I got it for my wedding and I can't remember if I spent it." The cashier checked and told her that she had $100 balance. "Can you use this card at Pottery Barn Kids too? It doesn't expire, right?" she asked. The cashier affirmed that she could and it wouldn't. <br />
<br />
At this point the young girl turned to her friend and said, "I think I'll just wait and use this when I get pregnant."<br />
<br />
I bristled inside. "When I get pregnant.... When I get pregnant... When I get pregnant..." The words rang in my ears all day. Part of me wanted to tell her, "Yeah right. It might not be that easy." But another part of me realized that for her it probably would be that easy. "When I get pregnant" is the world that most people live in. Most people can save their Pottery Barn gift cards received as wedding gifts and use them at Pottery Barn Kids a few years later. <br />
<br />
I remember living in the world of "when". In that world I saved money for nursery furniture. In that world I prepared monthly budgets that included daycare, diapers, and formula. In that world I picked out baby names and worried about how I would feel when Tony was home with the baby on summer break while I went to work. I clung to "when" for a long time. Even after starting IVF I still spoke in "when" terms as if the force of my will could get me pregnant.<br />
<br />
Eventually "when" slipped away and became "if". I couldn't plan a vacation that I might not enjoy if I got pregnant. I couldn't buy adult furniture for the "nursery" because where would I put it if I got pregnant? Changing from "when" to "if" was incredibly painful. Hope was slipping away.<br />
<br />
Thinking of this yesterday made me wonder where I am today. I am a long way from "when" obviously. If "when" were a location on Earth it would be midnight there when it is noon here. But I also realized that I am moving away from "if" as well. I don't plan for "if I get pregnant" anymore. This is a good thing. I'm living my life. This is also a sad thing. <br />
<br />
And I'm not quite sure what it means.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-22915075948480093942010-10-10T13:55:00.000-05:002010-10-10T13:55:02.627-05:00The JonesesIf you have curly hair, you want straight hair. If you have straight hair (all together now) you want curly hair. I happen to have naturally curly hair. Sometimes I want straight hair, but mostly I am OK with my curls.<br />
<br />
My mother is an incredibly jealous person. She is focused on what others have that she does not have. She is constantly questioning what people had to do to get what they have and always condemning people for getting more. Don't they have enough?!?!?! In ways this has jealousy ruined my mother's life. It impacted my life as well. Growing up, sometimes I wasn't allowed to invite friends to the house if their house was nicer than ours. <br />
<br />
I really try to control jealousy in my own life. My philosophy is that everyone's life has happiness and sadness. Some people might hide the sadness and all you see is the happiness, but it is still there. <br />
<br />
Infertility really tests this theory of mine, but even when a friend of mine's first IVF worked while my third IVF failed I could recognize that her life was not perfect. She had a successful pregnancy. She also had a husband with a lot of baggage (including troubled children) from a previous marriage. She had a town house that was underwater and she could not sell. She had a pink slip from her job and no prospects for a new job in this economy. Yes, her IVF was successful, but I wasn't volunteering to trade places with her.<br />
<br />
When I <a href="http://bottomsoffandonthetable.blogspot.com/2010/09/is-this-blog-dead.html">posted that I was becoming a workaholic</a> I didn't tell the whole story. At the time I was up for a promotion; an amazing promotion to a role for which I am unqualified, too young, too inexperienced, and for which there were many other more experienced candidates. <br />
<br />
I got it.<br />
<br />
I received many heartfelt congratulations from colleagues, but I could see the jealousy in some people's eyes. I could see the questioning. "Why is she in that job? Why does she get all the breaks? Why? Why? Why?" I understand their questioning. I have had some amazing career opportunites. I have been lucky to be at the right place at the right time. <br />
<br />
I wanted to answer the unasked questions I saw in their eyes. I felt like saying, "Thanks for the congratulations. I'm not as lucky as you think. I can't have children. If I could have children I probably wouldn't have even applied for this job. I would give up this promotion in a second if I could go back and have a successful IVF. Don't envy me." <br />
<br />
I definately have my moments when I wonder why. Why did I have to lose my father just when our relationship was starting to mature and bloom? Why did I have to move in junior high; the worst time for a girl to move and change schools? Why did I have to pay for my own first car, my own college education, my own wedding? And why oh why have I been afflicted with this fucking disease called infertility???<br />
<br />
My life has sadness. I also have blessings. We all do. We just have to recognize them.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-72610922099975816292010-10-07T06:10:00.000-05:002010-10-07T06:10:00.071-05:00The Ovary MonologuesNo one has ever really asked me where I came up with the name of this blog. It's not my name. I didn't make it up. Early in my career as an infertile there was one particular nurse who would show me to the exam room and say, "You know the drill; bottoms off and on the table." It stuck with me. She was so nonchalant about the whole thing; the whole thing being showing your vagina to a stranger. Of course eventually taking my pants off because the normal course of business. I almost absentmindedly disrobed at the dentist office once.<br />
<br />
If I had to rename my blog today I would call it "The Ovary Monologues." Of course when this blog started I didn't know that my ovaries would cause so much trouble. I didn't think of my ovaries much at all. In sixth grade I learned about them in a sex education class. Over the years I didn't think of them much after that. I thought about my uterus when I had cramps or when I imagined a baby inside. I thought about my vagina (no comments there). My ovaries were ignored. Totally neglected. Abandoned. Overlooked. A non thought.<br />
<br />
I remember the first time I saw them. They were bountiful and luscious and full of follicles. I was so proud. Then I found out they were too bountiful, too luscious, and my cycle was cancelled. I was disappointed, but still proud. <br />
<br />
Shortly there after everything changed. My ovaries failed me. They failed to produce the proper quantity of follicles. They failed to produce the proper quality of eggs. <br />
<br />
They<br />
<br />
failed<br />
<br />
me.<br />
<br />
It was a total blindside. These little thought of organs suddenly took center stage. They were ruining my life. <br />
<br />
I haven't seen my ovaries for months now. I'm making peace with them. They just couldn't do what I wanted them to do. That's just the way it is. Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-39323412406776820692010-09-01T19:07:00.000-05:002010-09-01T19:07:07.161-05:00Is This Blog Dead?Why do infertility bloggers stop blogging?<br />
<br />
Scenario A: They have a baby and move on.<br />
Scenario B: They give up on having a baby and move on.<br />
<br />
So where have I been? Do either of these scenarios apply to me? Well, "Scenario A" definitely does not apply. No baby here, that hasn't changed. Does "Scenario B" apply? Not really. I still hear the whisper. I still think about my lack of babyhood daily. I still think about this blog almost daily. I still compose posts in my head while I drive, while I walk, while I work. For some reason I just haven't been able to put fingers to keyboard and get my thoughts digitized.<br />
<br />
Work has been incredibly busy. Twelve hour days and working on the weekend has become the "new normal" for me. Lately at work I have wondered how the hell I did my job and IVF at the same time. Right now I can't imagine fitting appointments, mood swings, bloating, and general-icky-feeling-ness into my very full work day. <br />
<br />
I control how busy I am at work to some extent. I control how much I delegate and how much I do myself. I can influence what projects I chose to take on. I can manage the expectations of my boss which determines how hard I push myself and my team. So I wonder how much of my work busy-ness is a self imposed coping mechanism.<br />
<br />
Between you, me, and anyone that reads this blog, when I was doing IVF I definitely did not work hard. My IVF work days went something like this:<br />
<br />
7:00 - 9:00 Google, Read blogs, or Write a blog post<br />
9:00 - 11:00 Finish the things that ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO GET DONE to prevent losing my job<br />
11:00 - 1:00 Doctor's Appointments, Run to Wholefoods for supplements, or Phone call to pharmacy and/or insurance company<br />
1:00-3:00 Find someone to gossip with, maybe do more work, obsess over possibly losing job<br />
3:00-4:00 Stare at clock until 4 (which is the earliest acceptable time to go home)<br />
***Sprinkle in meetings as necessary<br />
<br />
So what gives now? Am I paying for my previously lax schedule? Is it guilt for previously wasting company time? Am I trying to fill my days with something more productive? Coming from a Midwestern blue collar/agricultural background, hard work has been the answer to most questions. I come from a long line of workaholics. If work is the cure...then I'm on my way.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-76468158072348460272010-07-26T21:57:00.000-05:002010-07-26T21:57:02.436-05:00ProgressWhen my direct report told me that his wife had a miscarriage (her third). My brain didn't scream, "<span style="font-size: x-large;">AT LEAST YOU HAVE TWO KIDS!!!!</span>". Instead it whispered, "<span style="font-size: xx-small;">at least you have two kids</span>."<br />
<br />
I consider this progress.<br />
<br />
When I casually mentioned donor eggs to my husband (as I do about once a month, just to test the waters.) He didn't say, "Absolutely not, I don't want to discuss it." Instead he said, "Let's discuss it in a year."<br />
<br />
I consider this progress.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-55333804559778475282010-07-24T08:55:00.000-05:002010-07-24T08:55:56.706-05:00Last night I had a dream......that Tony and I were in a delivery room. I was in a hospital gown. I was pregnant and about to give birth. We were holding each other and dancing. We were both so happy.<br />
<br />
Even in my dreamy state there was a voice in the back of my head telling 'dream Megan', "Stop dreaming this. Stop thinking this way. This isn't going to happen for you. If you keep this up it will only be painful when you wake up to reality." <br />
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But 'dream Megan' kept dreaming and the voice in the back of my head kept berating her until finally I woke up.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-15898175340131897342010-07-18T20:36:00.000-05:002010-07-18T20:36:26.666-05:00Bo Turns One!My "baby" is one! We celebrated with a special cookie. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicX2oNB2bfF5kukmGHFu7XMUglEyoPhw-lkuLt78XMCEmm9hGmitm_rZVkAcs8m_S4Qkf742z99QiWHTuqdlFQQgF9Jop5teTg_61bSnUS_tscl2E4oCNc2zSpQSM5ZzOB88GcM_em/s1600/DSC01600+(Medium).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicX2oNB2bfF5kukmGHFu7XMUglEyoPhw-lkuLt78XMCEmm9hGmitm_rZVkAcs8m_S4Qkf742z99QiWHTuqdlFQQgF9Jop5teTg_61bSnUS_tscl2E4oCNc2zSpQSM5ZzOB88GcM_em/s200/DSC01600+(Medium).JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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<a href="http://craftycpa.blogspot.com/2010/07/me-puppy-turns-one.html">See some of my favorite BoBo pics</a> at the crafty cpa.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-91807679562940667402010-07-08T18:29:00.001-05:002010-07-08T18:29:40.140-05:00Six Posts for the Price of OneSo, I've been away for awhile...I'm not really sure why. But I'm going to try and make it up to you. Here are six mini blog posts and/or observations I've made lately.<br />
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<strong>Post No. 1: The Whisper</strong><br />
"Dateline Mysteries", "48 Hours Investigates", "Snapped", if its a television show about a person gettin' killed by their spouse, my husband is watching it. Disturbing? Yes, slightly. I think he watches because he likes the mystery story and not for ideas. I hope.<br />
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Several months ago Tony was watching one of those types of shows and a murder victim's father described "the whisper". I knew exactly what he was talking about. I hear the whisper too. <br />
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Let me paraphrase what he said, "I can go about my day. I can go to work. I can laugh. I can have fun. But the whisper of my child's murder is always there, and in the quiet moments of my life it is all I hear."<br />
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My whisper is infertility.<br />
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<strong>Post No 2: Infertile, Interrupted</strong><br />
Part of why I haven't been posting is because I haven't had many positive things to say, not that I think this space should be reserved for wine and roses. Part of me says, "This is real. This is your life. You should share no matter how depressive." Part of me says, "You really should censor yourself a bit. You gain nothing by spewing negativity into the Internet. Keep it to yourself."<br />
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I have now accepted that I am unreasonably depressed, depressed beyond the situation. It has consumed me. I intend to do something pharmaceutical about it, but while I made time for endless infertility appointments, I can't seem to find the time for this appointment.<br />
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<strong>Post No 3: Damn, I Feel Like a Woman</strong><br />
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<a href="http://bottomsoffandonthetable.blogspot.com/2010/04/back-in-stirrups.html">In April I posted about my first visit back to my gyn and my absent period.</a> Well, I hemmed and hawed about giving the blood sample she wanted before I started the Provera that would start my period. Finally at the end of May I gave the blood sample, started the Provera and paused; nothing happened, nada, uterine crickets. After two weeks I called the gyn about my absent flow and was told that Provera could take up to ten weeks, call back after the forth of July. I'd never heard of that, but whatever...<br />
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Today, quite unexpectedly, I got my period. I know a lot of infertile women are used to irregular periods, but that was never me. I could set a clock (or maybe a calendar) by my period. No period for five months has been a little disconcerting. But now, here it is. I wonder if I have been successfully "reset" physically or if I will be irregular ever more.<br />
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Maybe I'll get reset mentally as well. Watch this space...<br />
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<strong>Post No 4: LL</strong><br />
Linsay Lohan's dad gives me the creeps.<br />
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<strong>Post No 5: The Two Faces of Megan</strong><br />
Despite the whisper, despite the depression, Tony and I have been having a very active summer. And we've started dreaming and planning again. We haven't been able to dream and plan for a long time and it feels good to stretch that part of our brains again. Most of these dreams and plans center around new landscaping, purchasing land and building a cabin, and early retirement schemes. Secretly I still want to try a donor egg cycle. Since each of these dreams and plans require money, they are somewhat mutually exclusive. I feel like I'm living two dream lives.<br />
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<strong>Post No 6: Nothing Special</strong><br />
My husband secretly loves the movie, "Steel Magnolias". Sometimes I walk into the family room and catch him watching it on TV. It's funny. He likes, "Mona Lisa Smile" too. I wonder if its a Julia Roberts thing, but he really doesn't watch any other of her movies. It must be a female ensemble cast thing. <br />
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So if you've seen the movie more than once, you know the line. Diabetic Shelby has just told her mother that she is happily pregnant despite the health complications involved. She says, "I'd rather have a few moments of wonderful <em>*pause for dramatic effect*</em> than a lifetime of nothing special." <br />
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For some reason I was thinking of this scene a few weeks ago and I thought to myself. That's going to be my life...a lifetime of nothing special. Special is a relative term, so perhaps I was being a bit melodramatic; certainly something special can happen to me in my childless lifetime. Special is anything I want to believe is special. And a lifetime of nothing special also doesn't mean a bad lifetime necessarily. But I still want to be a mom. Maybe more than I did before. Sigh.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-15359370057596857482010-06-18T08:40:00.000-05:002010-06-18T08:40:46.273-05:00Two Cards in my PurseRight now I have two cards in my purse. They are both for my husband. The first one is a card I gave my husband on the day we finally made it to embryo transfer after two cancelled IVFs and one IVF resulting in no embryos to transfer. Inside I wrote, “No matter what happens…today we are a mommy and a daddy with the same hopes and dreams for our children that any parent has. Love, your baby girl (but hopefully not your only baby for long).” The day he opened it, he put it in my purse to take home and it hasn’t left since. <br />
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I can’t bear to throw it out. We were so happy that day. So hope filled. It was one of the best days of my life. But what do you do with a card like that? Where do you keep it?<br />
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The second card is a Father’s Day card I bought several weeks ago. It has a picture of a golden retriever on the front and I wrote a cute message from Bo inside. I have to admit that this card is slightly passive aggressive. Tony isn’t ready to say that he will ever want to pursue parenthood again (whatever that would mean). I’m not ready to say that I want to accept child free living for the rest of my life. We are in limbo. This is OK right now. <br />
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I bought the card in a small way to remind him that fatherhood is out there. I bought the card because I want a card from him saying, “When we are healed from the disappointment of five failed attempts at IVF, when we are ready, we’ll do whatever it takes to become parents…if that’s what we decide we want to do.”<br />
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I’ve happily carried this Father’s Day card around for weeks, ready to launch my passive aggressive assault. <br />
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But then earlier this week I reminded Tony (in a totally innocent, non-passive aggressive way…for real. I have no problem admitting when I’m being passive aggressive.) that Bo needed to go to day camp on Friday for the dog Father’s Day party. (I know Liz…we do some crazy crap for our dogs here in the States, but I hate for Bo to miss a party.) Tony was less than enthusiastic and snarked back something to the effect that he didn’t need to participate in some dumb dog Father’s Day party.<br />
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I’m so stupid. Why would I think that he needs a card (even one disguised as a cute message from our pup) to be reminded that he’s not a father? I know how he feels. On Mother’s Day my aunt sent an email to all the women in the family wishing everyone a happy day. She addressed it to everyone whether a mother, an aunt, a cousin, or a puppy mom. I wasn’t the only non-mom recipient of the email. She’s a non-mom herself. I felt conflicted though. On one hand I was happy to be included, but on the other hand I felt like the girl invited to the party by default because someone’s parent said that the whole class had to be invited. <br />
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And so, I think we will ignore Father’s Day this year. Both of our fathers have passed away. Tony’s not a father. We’ll just continue to celebrate each other as a loving couple with a fabulous dog, and eventually our ideas about parenthood will come together with time.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-22562325916086283612010-06-11T09:00:00.000-05:002010-06-11T09:00:49.687-05:00Facebook Status Todaymy Facebook status today...<br />
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"The only good things in my life are my husband and my dog. Sometimes I feel incredibly lucky and sometimes I feel incredibly sad."<br />
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Do you think I'll get kicked off Facebook for admitting I'm sad?<br />
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...lots of posts rolling around in my head. I've been enjoying the great weather we've been having!Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-14373919688142042162010-06-01T13:01:00.000-05:002010-06-01T13:01:02.173-05:00Like a virgin......lapped for the very first time.<br />
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It's hard to believe that someone has conceived and birthed a child twice and I have nothing but plans to turn "the nursery" into my new office.<br />
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Sigh.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-66706170891410348032010-05-17T08:00:00.002-05:002010-05-17T11:46:35.789-05:00Where's my parade?I have two close work friends that were diagnosed with breast cancer at a young age. Between the two of them I have attended a wine and cheese party where we were encouraged to shower one friend with gifts, made a meal for another friend's family (the week before one of my IVF retrievals), contributed to a fund to pay for one friend to have her house cleaned regularly, made phone calls, sent emails, and participated in other supportive activities. <br />
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I know I shouldn't compare infertility to someone with cancer. First of all, we aren't likely to die from infertility (although it feels like it most days). And our treatments are arguably less arduous (we don't lose our hair, just our minds). <br />
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But I can't help but think that it is unfair that most of us can't even get our Facebook "friends" to acknowledge our "infertility outings" on Facebook during Infertility Awareness Week. I can't help but think that it is unfair that most of us hide our infertility and cringe when an article about our struggles appears online because we know the comments from readers will be so painful. <br />
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Why shouldn't friends and family shower us with gifts and cook us dinner when stimulation meds are making us feel sluggish?<br />
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So what do you think? Am I out of line? And if not, how do we change this? Where did we go wrong?<br />
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Shouldn't the community of womanhood band together and fight for everyone to become a mother?Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-42525828624210721472010-05-02T09:15:00.008-05:002010-05-02T12:06:03.511-05:00a different kind of love<div>When I was in my twenties a lady I worked with told me a story about the birth of her first child. She had endured something like twelve hours of difficult labor followed by an emergency c-section. When it was all over, baby in arms, her husband looked into her eyes and said, "I just fell in love with you all over again."<br /><br />This story has haunted me lately. It's so difficult to know that I will never give my husband the gift of growing a child in my womb made of part of him and part of me. I will never give him the gift of laboring to bring that child into the world, and he will never look into my eyes and tell me that his love for me has been reborn.<br /><br />*pause for sadness*<br /><br />When my husband and I finally got off the treatment roller coaster I didn't recognize our marriage anymore. For a while infertility treatments made us stronger and drew us closer, but eventually the constant disappointment destroyed us. My depression grew stronger than our relationship. My husband became more and more frustrated because he could not solve this problem. He could not succeed as a husband and make me happy. I could not succeed as a wife and give him the child that I so desperately wanted to give. Infertility led to financial problems and destroyed our physical intimacy. We were broken.<br /><br />I'm happy to say that we are rebuilding. I'm thrilled to report that our marriage is getting stronger. We are smiling, laughing, planning, touching, hugging, kissing, joking, and talking. We are starting to become "us" again.<br /><br />But still that woman's story haunted me. Can we ever have the kind of love that two people have when they build a family together?<br /><br />The answer is no. We can't have that love. We have something different. Tony and I walked through hell together. We may not have always been looking into each other's eyes while we walked, but we always held each other's hands. We did it together. Our hopes were raised together. Our souls were rocked together. Our dreams were destroyed together.<br /><br />We are falling in love with each other all over again. And that love feels so special and so true. It didn't come from a place of joy where love is easy. It came from a place of despair. We had a choice and we chose us.<br /><br />_____________________________________________<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZ0tX-HVxBSH1__9_cJTRirWwTFuwZl17umliuoL8MViWXHfKnmDYoH8rqjfVcrbDpTydXFZUMOs2a6jxvLj8jaSENtV0rymOFj9iH-o9t9nADLptR3u6jbOSeSyKFaf66tjyOLEU/s1600/W+(Large).JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466686956608669106" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 142px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZ0tX-HVxBSH1__9_cJTRirWwTFuwZl17umliuoL8MViWXHfKnmDYoH8rqjfVcrbDpTydXFZUMOs2a6jxvLj8jaSENtV0rymOFj9iH-o9t9nADLptR3u6jbOSeSyKFaf66tjyOLEU/s200/W+(Large).JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://craftycpa.blogspot.com/2010/05/alphabears-case-for-handmade-gifts.html">read about the alphabears</a> at the crafty cpa</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-52054013491475389242010-04-27T18:00:00.000-05:002010-04-27T18:26:12.856-05:00Money Makes the World Go RoundWe're broke.<br /><br /><br />OK, we're not totally broke. We still have jobs. We still pay the bills. After spending tens of thousands of dollars on infertility tests, treatments, and prescriptions over the past two years we have very little savings left.<br /><br /><br />Yes, we are on an extended (maybe forever) break from treatments. Yes, even if we had the money we would not be in treatment right now, but quite frankly even if we wanted to cycle we couldn't afford it. The well is dry. The money tree has been shoke (shooken? shaked?) to within an inch of its life.<br /><br /><br />BUT...despite our dire financial situation, we want to live. We want to do some of the things that we have been putting off. We want to travel. We want to buy stuff. We want to have fun.<br /><br /><br />BUT...I still have a nagging thought, a little voice telling me that if this desire to have a child is still with me in a year then I may want to have the option to try donor eggs. That option requires some major savings and I just don't feel like it right now.<br /><br />So right now I'm spending. <a href="http://craftycpa.blogspot.com/2010/04/inventory-control-new-toy.html">I'm buying new toys.</a> And I'll worry about saving for tomorrow later.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-84903942429418650012010-04-25T16:12:00.002-05:002010-04-25T16:37:06.308-05:00Back in the StirrupsNo, don't spit out your Sunday afternoon margarita. No IUI, no IVF, just a regular well woman exam with an extra discussion regarding my missing period (cycle day 60+ since my post failed IVF bleed). Am I the only one who has Sunday afternoon margaritas?<br /><br />I've been away from my regular OBGYN long enough that she has had time to drop my insurance and pick it up again. I was really excited to "graduate" from my RE (even without the eight week old heart beating fetus in my belly that most graduates have). Another step back toward normal world.<br /><br />But things didn't go as planned...<br /><br />It all started down hill when the nurse insisted on a pregnancy test since I haven't had my period for sixty-plus days. She asked me if I had tested at home. I answered, "Nope." She asked if there was a chance I was pregnant. I answered, "Nope." She asked if I was using birth control. I answered, "Nope." <br /><br />I could tell that she was getting excited at the opportunity to be the one to tell me that I was pregnant. So I broke the bad news to her, "I've done five IVFs and I've only had sex with my husband once in the last sixty days, so I'm sure I'm not pregnant."<br /><br />I could tell she was disappointed. She hung her head and said, "Well, the doctor would have wanted me to test anyway." The test was never mentioned again. I assume it was negative.<br /><br />I had to relay and relive my whole history of infertility with the doctor like two college girls catching up. I started to cry. This is not how I wanted this visit to go.<br /><br />After all the boob checking and pap smearing we got around to talking about my absent period. I told her about my high FSH. She asked if I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure and I answered, "Yes." I'm not sure why I answered this way. I've never actually been told that I have POF. I'm not ready to open my medical records that I requested be mailed to me by my RE. Actually, no one has really said what is wrong with me besides the fact that I have high FSH and crap eggs. But based on my affirmative answer my doctor dropped a bomb.<br /><br />"If you have POF you probably won't get your period anymore. I'll give you some Provera, but I want you to do some blood work before you take it."<br /><br />Really? I always had normal periods. Yes, I had to take Provera to start my period before this last cycle, but I just figured I was messed up due to all the meds. Her prediction really bothered me. No period = no hope what so ever. Does no period mean that donor eggs is not even an option for me in the future? Does no period mean that I'm old and dried up at thirty two? <br /><br />And so I wait. I wait for blood work (which I haven't given yet.) I wait for Provera to induce a period. I wait for another period that may never come. I wait for answers to questions that I had no idea would even apply to me. <br /><br />WTF.<br /><br />On a happier note I have been busy crafting the last few weeks and have decided to revive <a href="http://craftycpa.blogspot.com/">my other blog</a>. Check it out if you have an interest in crafty things...Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-90357855955314733822010-04-21T08:17:00.003-05:002010-04-21T08:43:03.895-05:00BonnieI'm going to admit that I have been scammed by the Internet. I've given money to infertility treatment funds only to find later that those treatments never took place. So I don't take this post lightly, but I believe in this story.<br /><br />I have been reading Bonnie's blog since I started blogging, back when she was "the angry one". We have IVF cycled together. We have been cancelled together. We have failed together. I read her new blog with envy as she inched closer and closer to taking home a baby through domestic adoption. I was devastated when that adoption fell through. Bonnie's raw and honest emotions that she shared with all of us during that time really touched me. I felt her pain.<br /><br />Bonnie is a survivor...she is tenacious...and she is determined to be a mother.<br /><br />Bonnie is currently trying to raise money in order to bring her daughter home from Africa.<br /><br />Please visit her blog and <a href="http://adoptionraffle.blogspot.com/">enter her adoption raffle</a>. For just $5 you can enter to win an iPod touch (which is a pretty awesome thing in my book since my current iPod is the first iPod ever made that was given to me by my sister). But don't feel like you have to stop there, every $5 earns you another iPod touch raffle entry. Entries stop May 2nd at noon.<br /><br />***Bonnie, I wish you all the luck in the world with your fundraising and your new daughter. Please do not enter me in the raffle for this blog post. This blog post comes from my heart. However, I will be making my donation/entry today because I WANT THAT iPOD!!!Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-34619326925561886032010-04-18T16:19:00.004-05:002010-04-18T16:34:51.936-05:00Two Infertiles DancingWalking toward <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">each other</span> in the office hallway I see you and you see me.<br /><br />You know that I am infertile and I know that you are too.<br /><br />You know that I don't have a baby and I know that you do.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="right">You don't know if I am still trying...</div><div align="right"></div><div align="right">You don't know if I might be pregnant right now...</div><div align="right"></div><div align="right">You don't know if I'm waiting to find out if I'm pregnant right now...</div><div align="right"></div><div align="right">You don't know the lengths I've gone to in order to catch up with you...</div><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;">You know that you shouldn't talk about your baby, but you wish I would ask.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;">I know that I should ask, but I wish you wouldn't talk about your baby.</span></strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="right">I've avoided your department because of you.</div><div align="right"></div><div align="right">I've avoided the cafeteria because of you.</div><br /><br /><br />And so we dance down the hall, each step bringing us closer to an uncomfortable conversation.<br /><br />Until I shout out a, "Hi!" and duck around the corner, never so happy to rush into a training class.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881629173943208551.post-45361883756447154842010-04-05T17:09:00.006-05:002010-04-05T19:06:25.180-05:00Outside of MyselfMost articles I read about Child Free Living After Infertility (CFLAI?) propose that you can still have children in your life and feel fulfilled. Usually the idea is that becoming involved with nieces or nephews or children of friends will be a salve for all your barren wounds. I have to admit that idea is a little too Pollyanna for me right now. I can't imagine a niece or a nephew or a friend's child making me feel any better about my situation. Of course I have no nieces or nephews and I have pretty much cut off contact with fertile friends by this point, so who knows.<br /><br />Tony has a favorite student at school, a special needs girl named K. K is severely disabled. She can't speak, uses a wheelchair, and no one knows how much she understands. Tony takes time out of his day to rock her or takes her outside for a walk to watch the kids playing in gym class. She smiles when she hears the sound of his voice.<br /><br />Tony has been asking me to sew something for her, so this weekend I made her a bag. I've made a few of these for friends and family. They are the size and shape of those reusable shopping bags that I seem to grab for time and again whenever I have to tote anything from here to there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZrgG8D_daIh6qC8k-iLNptaqZBYcQoB5UR34P7S0Iz0hYCO3dFwlhJlBnMEmUjRkqCXNukh-F3dlkfqgi_1mGRS0chjw5rVK0lgJjiEnxnyERiAjJr-q1cvHg0Lr-5OaL4eLKuDU/s1600/DSC02394.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456790766890606834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZrgG8D_daIh6qC8k-iLNptaqZBYcQoB5UR34P7S0Iz0hYCO3dFwlhJlBnMEmUjRkqCXNukh-F3dlkfqgi_1mGRS0chjw5rVK0lgJjiEnxnyERiAjJr-q1cvHg0Lr-5OaL4eLKuDU/s400/DSC02394.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I don't know if it was the sewing or if all those articles are on to something, but making this bag felt good*.<br /><br />*or I just wanted to show off a new bag I made.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15844319222032025685noreply@blogger.com27